


Purfling

by R_Armchair



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Aged-Up Number Five | The Boy, F/M, Mentions of Dolores and Leonard and Sissy, No Respect for Diego’s Belongings, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post Season 2, Reggie didn’t want you to use it like that Vanya, Strings 101, There Will Be VIOLIN Sex, Violin Kink, Violins, no beta we die like ben, things escalate, to a degree
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:20:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26264860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/R_Armchair/pseuds/R_Armchair
Summary: Five drops in with an offering for Vanya.
Relationships: Number Five | The Boy/Vanya Hargreeves
Comments: 16
Kudos: 85





	Purfling

**Author's Note:**

> The Fiveya tag always seems like the smut olympics. But there seems to be an astonishingly glaring omission from the line-up. Where’s the violin sex at?

Five arrived in the center of Vanya’s apartment carrying a case. It was longer than a time travel device but of equal width.

“Where did you get that?” Vanya asked, visibly flinching.

“I asked Old Man Hargreeves if I could borrow it.” He strode over to the living room and placed the violin case on the coffee table.

“You never ask.”

“Fine. I inquired if he still played, and then I stole it when he and the Sparrows left on a mission.” He stripped off his blazer and hung it over a chair back.

A series of police sirens ebbed and flowed on the street outside her window. She called it her window, but really it was Diego’s. After arriving in the revamped 2019, the siblings had agreed to find housing outside the manor. Allison lived alone, rumoring herself a winning lottery ticket. As the money was technically hers, she’d wasted most of it on luxury accommodations and split the rest equally amongst the siblings. Everyone had expected Vanya to pick her or Five as a roommate, but instead she’d crawled back to the only place of safety she’d known.

Vanya asked Diego, since she’d assumed he’d both keep her company and keep to his own business. So it came to pass that she lived in her old bedroom and he converted the living room. It retained all the essential livingroom-y things, only now it had a Murphy bed that he creakily pulled down in the evenings and a TV console filled with clothes. Today, he’d rushed to work, leaving the bed down and unmade.

“Why bring it here?” Vanya asked, staring as Five carefully slid open the two zippers. She hadn’t seen the instrument since the night at the theater. This technically wasn’t the same one, but her fingers itched. Would it feel the same? Would it press against her shoulder with same weight it always had? “Take it back,” she added.

He continued to remove the instrument from his case, but not as delicately as he should have. He tossed the velvet covering to the floor. The Velcro across the neck twanged the strings when he unfastened it. His finger nails scratched the polished wood when he lifted it to his shoulder. Vanya caught herself reaching out to take it from him. Instead, she crossed her arms and tucked them into her armpits.

“You’d only been playing for a month when I left. And you barely mentioned it in your book.”

“Of course I didn’t. The book was about everyone else.”

“For a memoir, there was very little about your adult life. I never would’ve guessed you’d become a professional violinist.” He fumbled with the bow and drew it across the strings. An airy hiss emitted.

She sucked in a breath, closed her eyes, and yanked the bow from his hand. “First off. You need to tighten this.” When she turned the screw, the horsehair stiffened. “And secondly,” she said, reaching for the instrument. “This isn’t a left-handed violin. You hold the bow with your right hand, and this needs to sit on your left shoulder.”

Carefully, she relocated the bow and violin to their proper places on his body. He smirked down at her. She shifted nervously, hunching her shoulders. This had become a more common action as the month’s passed. It had been easy in the beginning, when Five had dropped from the sky. He’d been the boy she’d remembered and admired, but with each passing day there had been changes. Initially there had been things she’d expected, like his attitude and mannerisms. He was an adult; of course he wouldn’t speak like a boy. There had also been the unexpected. Even if he hadn’t been physically an adult, he was rapidly and surely becoming one. Fast at first, in a matter of weeks he’d gone through an accelerated puberty that skyrocketed him into teenage-hood. Those rushes of hormones and growth spurts couldn’t maintain themselves at such a rate. Soon enough his aging had slowed, and the latter teenage years took the better part of a year.

Now, he fell somewhere between eighteen and twenty. Or at least, he assumed. It wasn’t like he had any pictures from his original go around. He was young enough that a cop made him empty a brown-bagged bottle into a trash can. Five had tried to explain that it was alcohol free beer. Klaus was back on the wagon, tried an alternative beverage, hated it, and passed it to Five during their walk home. The cop was having none of it, and apparently neither would Five.

However, he was definitely old enough that the college girls who worked at Griddy’s shamelessly jotted their numbers on his cup. Apparently none of them got the message when he tossed the empty container in the trash.

In little time at all, he’d grown taller than Vanya. There really wasn’t any reason that she should be thinking of the pretty girls who eyed him every damn day. She looked away, propping his drooping elbow. Those girls had nothing to with this. They definitely had nothing to do with him visiting her at all hours, usually bringing her a latte from said shop.

Today he had not brought her a latte. He’d brought her an instrument that she’d never wanted to see again. The part of her that played, the part of her that developed callouses on her fingers, well, she’d tucked that part away for good. She wanted to fumble like Five, to have plush, youthful fingertips that had never danced across the catgut strings. She wanted the innocence of never having known Reginald’s violin.

Five swallowed deeply; his Adam’s apple mirrored the drop of his elbow.

“Keep this upright,” she snapped. “The easiest strings to play are D and A. You need to keep this arm high to have proper alignment.”

“Allison said you worked as a private instructor. Were you this strict with all your kids?”

Vanya noticed he was smiling. She ground her teeth once. “I was…myself. I never had any complaints from the parents. But my last,” she said, adjusting his throttling of the neck. “My last student put me off ever playing again, much less teaching.”

Five’s eyebrows drew together. Perhaps he was planning on having words with a person who didn’t exist in this timeline. Of course he wouldn’t know.

“Leonard got to me by signing up for lessons. So don’t expect me to be excited for your new hobby. I’d rather be anywhere than here, like this.”

“But you love it.” Most things came out of his mouth like a command. His opinion was the only opinion that mattered, almost like he was merely observing a fact. Vanya had been mesmerized since he’d arrived, and not by him. Her fascination had been on the instrument. There had been no greeting. She’d recognized the case on sight, and had immediately focused on it.

The apocalypse had robbed her of something she hadn’t admitted was precious to her.

“This isn’t the one that hurt you,” Five said, stroking the bow along her belly. He lifted the hem of her shirt to expose skin. The rosined hair caught on her goosebumps. “It can’t ever hurt you, and neither can I.”

The old bow, abandoned in the apocalypse, had nearly killed her sister. It had sliced her throat clean through. In that moment, she should’ve known that her violin was nothing but destruction. This bow, however, had never harmed anyone. Five continued to draw it across her torso. He used the hook on the tip to lift the fabric toward her bra.

“It’s okay to want it, Vanya.”

The lacquered wood sent chills into her body. Was it really okay to miss it? Everyone had lost things during the time jump. The violin hadn’t been a child or a lover, but somehow it had become everything to her. It was the only positive memory of her childhood. She could never become a member of the Academy, but she could make something of herself. Her father’s violin had been the first step in that direction.

Ordinary as she was, she’d never abandoned her instrument. She should’ve never let it slip from her grasp. Not like Five. Not like Ben.

No one had thought to grab it. It had dropped from her hands. Probably shattered on the stage floor. At the very least the sound post had broken. The hidden part that determined the overall sound of the instrument, its very heart, had broken. Hers had done so right along with it.

She was heartbroken.

More than Leonard. More than Sissy. More than her family. She had loved her violin. Only now was she accepting that it was gone. She could turn away from playing. She could let her callouses heal. She could forget the fingerings in her favorite runs, but she would never truly get over losing her instrument.

She looked at Five standing beside her.

And she would never get over losing him.

When she’d first borrowed the instrument from her father, she’d only meant it for those initial lessons. Then Five had left. He’d been so certain that he knew everything there was to know about time. He was a master of his specialty.

She would never allow herself to be that sure. She would continue learning. She would study forever if she had to. She would never make the mistake of becoming falsely proficient. She would practice until the day she died, concertmaster or not.

This new violin, this bow, they would never hurt her. And neither would Five.

She placed her hand over his and stilled the bow.

“If I really were an instrument, you aren’t playing in the right area.” She lowered the position until the hairs were riding her waist band. “It’s a beginner move to play on the fingerboard. You get the best sound right above the bridge.”

“And where is the bridge?” he asked, his voice quieter than she’d expected.

When she undid the button on her jeans, he visibly gulped. “Probably my belly button.”

“And this part?” He shoved the violin in her face. When he pointed to the tailpiece, the bow in his other hand clacked against the ribs.

“That would be the tailpiece.” She took his bow. “Are you sure you want to see it?”

When he nodded, she was certain that he meant it. She pushed her jeans down her hips. They fell in a stiff puddle at her feet. She traced the triangle of white fabric that was the front of her underwear. “Most likely this. Now look at the base of the violin.”

Five did as he was told, spinning the instrument so he could look it down the barrel.

“This little nub at the bottom holds the tailpiece on. It’s made of hardwood. And it’s called the button.”

“That’s not a very sexy name,” Five said, his eyebrows pulling together in a frown.

Vanya laughed, and the room was filled with a lightness that hadn’t been there before. “Not everything can be sexy.”

“The other parts have a certain sensuality. There’s the neck.” He ran the back of his fingers down the side of her neck. “And the strings.” Slowly, he stroked toward her belly button. “And the fingerboard, which is obviously for fingering.” He slipped his hand in her underwear. “You’d think they’d have a better word than ‘button’ for something that basically determines whether everything comes undone.”

Vanya found herself closing her eyes and breathing heavily when he made feather light touches to her clitoris. “Hand me the violin,” she whispered.

The instant she hefted the instrument onto her shoulder, a sort of magic settled in her bones. It was unlike her and her siblings’ super powers. This was the feeling of meeting a lost love.

She straightened, she slackened her wrist, and she began to play. The memory of the last piece was written in her limbs. The solo that she had trained so hard for rattled from the violin. Her fingerings weren’t perfect, neither was her bowing.

The piece frightened her, but when she looked to Five she felt an immediate sense of calm. Here, in this timeline, it was just a piece. And this was just a violin.

She smiled. Helen, and everyone else for that matter, had been wrong. Playing wasn’t about innate talent. She would’ve given up years ago if there hadn’t been an element of fun.

Five quirked an eyebrow when Vanya adjusted her key and tempo. There were fewer sharps. The new piece she played definitely didn’t belong to a chamber orchestra.

She couldn’t tell if Five recognized it. He hadn’t been there the many years that Luther and Allison would longingly listen. They openly pined for each other in a way that Vanya never could.

“Enough of that,” he said. He tipped the instrument away from her by the scroll. “You’ve had your fun. Now I’d like to have mine.”

Slowly, starting at her collar, he undid the buttons of her shirt. He was methodical in his undressing of her. There was no mystery to him in the hooks or straps. This was how he must’ve prepared Dolores.

Vanya had a passing thought she immediately tried to stomp into oblivion. Is this how he undressed everyone? Was there no passionate ripping of fabric, no tearing of seams? She had to set the violin down when he tugged at her left sleeve. Diego’s bed was soft and near enough for her to safely toss the instrument.

Five gulped, froze in place, and stared at the mattress. He recovered quickly and made fast work of her underwear.

The unwanted thought drifted back. To distract herself, she stroked his hair. He took her hand in his and led the few steps to the bed. The answer was clear. Of course he was this methodical with everyone. There had technically been only one other. The bravery he’d shown when shoving his hand between her legs was wavering.

She sensed a nearly imperceptible tremble emanating from him. There was no need for him to worry. She’d never hurt him.

When she lay back, her shoulder knocked the violin. Delicately, far more gently than he’d handled it, she placed it on her waist. He kneeled at the foot of the bed. Wordlessly, he slowly pulled the violin down her body. She had to butterfly her legs outward to accommodate his action.

The violin was now stationed between her thighs. Each time he plucked a string, the back vibrated against her labia. For the average person, this would’ve felt odd, but not particularly pleasurable. However, her powers resonated within her body. Like a tuning fork, she shook with each note.

His talents lay far from the musical arts. His pizzicato lacked rhythm and tone. The lesson he’d come for had been cut short, so it wasn’t surprising that he couldn’t find proper finger placement. Vanya shuddered uncomfortably when he plucked an extremely flat rendition of “Row, Row, Row Your Boat.” She only recognized it because he’d enthusiastically sang along.

He tried a variety of other melodies, but soon became disinterested. Gripping the violin by the chinrest, he slid it further down. The instrument was almost entirely off her body by the time she let out a gasp.

The fluting on the scroll had cupped her clitoris. It rode along one of the smooth channels. The intense pleasure caused her to fist the sheets. Up and down, Five rocked the violin so the fluting cradled the exposed portion of her organ.

She became progressively wetter until the instrument got away from him. The scroll slipped with the slickness toward her entrance. The wood was harder than anything she’d ever inserted before. She rolled her hips, fruitlessly trying to work the scroll deeper into her cunt. The pegs pushed back like four fingers against her labia. The external pressure was thrilling, but she wanted the instrument to be inside her.

“Pull out the fucking pegs,” she rasped at Five.

“Huh?” he asked, still gently rocking the violin against her.

“Those black things at the top. Wind them counterclockwise.” She began rubbing her clitoris, keeping herself stimulated.

As efficiently as disassembling a firearm, Five worked on the pegbox. The sound of the strings struggling along the fingerboard became quieter. When he pulled the last string free, there was a clatter of the bridge dropping to the floor. The tailpiece briefly dangled by the tail gut before ultimately detaching when Five began thrusting.

The open cavity of the pegbox sucked at the insides of Vanya’s cunt. Anytime an air pocket released, Five smothered a laugh at the horrible queef. She buried her face in her hands, humiliated. The simple solution would be asking him to stop. However, the longer it continued the more she realized they were actually both enjoying themselves.

She’d never used sex aids with someone else. There had only been hands, mouths, and genitalia. Five was different for a reason. He didn’t make it feel like he was touching her with anything aside from his body. Once he held the violin, it became an extension of him.

He’d spent decades making love to a one-armed mannequin. Surely sex was more than his masturbating near Dolores. He must’ve touched her, kissed her, and fucked her. Her hand must’ve known every part of him. At the very least, he’d probably taken her thumb internally.

To him, using the violin qualified as sex just as equally as if he’d penetrated her with his cock. This wasn’t foreplay; he was fucking Vanya as earnestly as he could despite her continuous farting noises.

“Five,” she said, sitting up. Calmly, and with a wince, she took the instrument from him and tugged it out. “I think it’s time,” she finished, placing the sticky violin beside her.

His eyebrow twitched, but he stood up. “I went too far.”

Scooting forward so her feet touched the floor, she grinned to herself. He rarely apologized but she’d coaxed one out even when he’d done nothing wrong. They locked eyes and she gave him a nod indicating he was off the hook. Cautiously, lest he blink out of existence, she reached forward. Her fingers gripped the hems of his vest and shirt. 

“Lift your arms.”

He swallowed heavily, and then crouched down so she could pull the clothing over his head.

“Shoes next.”

He stepped on the backs of his heels, kicking them off one at a time. Further directions weren’t necessary. He removed his pants and undergarmets while she idly watched from the bed.

“Don’t you dare climb up here with your socks.”

“What do you have against them?” he asked, leaping onto the bed. He flipped over and crossed his arms beneath his head.

“Instead of buying new stuff, you keep wearing the guys’ hand-me-downs.” She swatted away his foot when he tapped her nose with his toes. “Your knee-highs are too ‘school boy’ for me right now. _Please_ take them off.”

“Vanya,” he said, pedaling his legs before flinging the socks at the television, “there is an entire subsection of the porn industry built on women dressed as school girls. You might be missing out on something.”

She could tell that he was masking an increasing level of nervousness with chatter. The man could slaughter dignitaries in silence without question, but he couldn’t lie naked in front of her without making a joke. He’d be speechless soon enough.

She mounted herself above his legs. With her hand, she guided his cock into place. Given that she’d easily taken something irregularly shaped moments before, he bottomed out with little resistance.

He made an uncharacteristic whine and grabbed for her hips. His eyes were shut so firmly that swatches of colors must’ve been playing behind his eyelids. With each rock of her hips, he made a similar whine of diminishing value.

“Why won’t you look at me?” she asked, curving her palm to his cheek.

“I’m...” He cut off his sentence and restarted. “What if you’re not here when I open my eyes?” Relenting, he looked at her, giving a thrust upward with his pelvis.

He wrapped an arm around her waist to steady her. Then carefully he maneuvered himself into a seated position. Easily, she looped her arms behind his neck. Their faces were so close she could taste the rich and bitter coffee on his breath.

Then, for the first time, Five kissed her. All of the things they’d done and somehow they’d skipped something so crucial.

Her fingers curled into his hair, begging him to kiss her more deeply. The warmth of his touch didn’t compare to his mouth moving against hers. She’d always longed for a kiss that seemed designed solely for her.

The kisses of her early relationships had been entirely forgetful. Even recent trysts had carried a sourness she couldn’t describe. With Leonard, it had been the understanding that no matter what he’d said or what she’d told Allison, she’d never believed they were equals. There was no way he’d loved her as much as she’d loved him.

With Sissy, regardless of the passion, there had been a part of her missing. She couldn’t be loved completely when she didn’t even know herself.

But Five.

Five knew her. And the things he didn’t? He wanted to learn. He’d made it his goal to know every detail that made her tick. She’d thought he’d been afraid. She’d thought he’d been preparing for her to become the inevitable bomb that she was. 

But Five wasn’t like that.

His left wet kisses on her chin and neck. He squeezed at her breast with a trembling hand. He grunted and groaned as he fucked her.

Was he the first person—the only person—that loved her? Loved her regardless of the horrible things that she’d done. Of the atrocities she was capable. Did he love her knowing all the risks involved?

She couldn’t ask. She wouldn’t.

Instead she arched her back, pulling away so that his cock dug into the front of her cunt.

She moaned, still sensitive where the scroll had scraped the flesh within. He took her sound as a cue to fuck her harder. Even though she clawed at his scalp and back, he held her gently. She wanted him to cling to her just as tightly, to prove to her that he’d never let go.

She leaned against his chest, pressing herself as close as possible. When she brought him into another series of kisses, she took control. Repeatedly, she slammed herself into his lap, making sure her front ground the length of his pelvis on the downstroke.

She felt the crescendo building as an explosive pressure. Either she’d release her powers and shatter everything in the room, or something else unexpected might happen. She steadied the rhythm, no longer caring about the outcome. Whatever the result, she was powerless to it now.

With a final yelp, she surrendered to the immediate need to lift off Five. Her entire body shuddered and her thighs vibrated above him. She threw her head back as the pressure released in a flood. Waves of liquid spilled out of her and onto the bed. She tried clenching her muscles to impede the flow, but the clear fluid just kept coming. It puddled along her shins and beneath him.

Finally, the last drops drained out and she limply crumpled against him.

“Holy shit,” he said, easing her onto her back, out of range of the puddle.

There were faint splashes as he shifted positions. He settled himself between her legs and balanced on his forearms. Dribbles of cum drained into the valley created by his knees.

“I haven’t...you know... yet,” he said, hesitantly.

Smiling, she traced the shell of his ear before nodding.

When he entered her this time, she let her thoughts wander. They lingered on the variety of noises their bodies made together. There were the obvious squelches and smacks. There were also quieter sounds. The friction of his toes touching the sheets. The droplets of sweat flicking from his hair. The hot air forced from his nostrils. The scratch of his fingernails dragging painlessly down her thighs.

Each part in combination was the music of their love making. This wasn’t a suite or concerto of multiple movements. This would ultimately come to an end. She could hear the rise; he’d reach the climax.

What would happen after that?

He began messily kissing her and gaining speed until he came to a stop. The whimper he made reverberated along her throat.

While she’d expected a little more tact from Five, he drowsily dropped onto her chest. He didn’t even try to catch himself, nor did he roll himself off. He lay there, panting at her shoulder.

Breathing shallowly, and without an ounce of shame, he fell asleep. Even though his body was young, it was still physically larger than hers. It took what little energy she had left to hoist him off. When his cock slipped free, semen trickled from her cunt and joined the larger stain on the sheets.

She considered getting out of bed to clean up, but there was an unexpected tenderness in the way he slept. None of the contempt he held for the world carried into his dreams. Or maybe, he felt a measure of security with her he usually didn’t have. Regardless, she chose to stay.

She wondered if anyone else had seen him naked recently, saw what she saw. Though he’d wanted his adult form back, the changes were coming at a cost. Bands of skin in his armpits and the joints of his hips were striated. Thin, spidery, stretch marks glistened in the sunlight. They strapped him like the thin purfling that encircled her violin protecting it from further, deeper, irreparable cracks.

The human body wasn’t meant to have a growth spurt of that magnitude. Even if he hadn’t told her, she could now see that it was causing him immense pain. Muscles in his calves twitched involuntarily. His legs probably screamed in agony. His arms, long enough to envelope her, probably seared beneath the surface.

These were scars only she would see. With age, came the fading of his other marks. It had been less than a year, but the slice she’d tended to on his forearm was now a spindly line. She pressed her thumb along the stripe. They’d reconciled only recently, but the healing made it seem like he’d returned ages ago.

The only mark she didn’t recognize was a starburst of tissue at his ribs. Whatever had happened must’ve been near lethal.

He grumbled in his sleep when she ran her hand over it. If there had been two, the placement would’ve been a perfect f-hole. Someone had carved their maker’s signature into his torso. What she didn’t know was how _he’d_ set off the explosion. He’d suffered shrapnel from his own attack. Through accident, he’d indelibly written his family’s worth on his body.

She curled up closer; they contacted with as much surface area as was possible between two people. With her leg over his, her breasts to his back, and her nose nestled in his hair, she breathed him in.

She’d learned from experience that “morning talk” was just that: thoughts and hopes never meant to be shared otherwise. So she held her tongue. She didn’t ask him to never leave.

She didn’t need to. He’d risked his life to come home. Even if circumstances ripped them apart a third time, he’d find a way back.

When she kissed his neck, he snuffled and took her hand. He kissed her knuckles and gave them a gentle nip before falling back asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> So now we know why there are like twenty violin tags in all of the TUA fandom total.  
> Let this be a lesson to you. You can start a project with the utmost sincerity like, “well this is gonna be sexy and serious.” And before you know it, it derails into pegbox queefs.
> 
> I’m sure a luthier somewhere is crying.


End file.
